Prominence
by sydneysages
Summary: Sometimes, he's nothing to her, sometimes he's everything. And he's had enough. /AmeliexOliver. Set post Daylighters, though there aren't really any spoilers.


This is set about 8 years after Daylighters, and is essentially Amelie/Oliver (but Sam gets mentioned a lot)

It doesn't really spoil anything, but still

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"You're thinking of him, aren't you?"

Only Oliver's slightly soft tone—something which normally only comes out when they're 'off duty', during his attempts to court her—rouses Amelie from her pensive state, and it takes her a few moments to realise what he's said. _Him_ is Sam Glass, the love who has consumed her heart and probably always will, and as Amelie looks into Oliver's eyes, she detects more than a touch of jealousy there: jealousy that she'll never think about him in the same category as Sam, despite their relationship being built on something completely different.

"Yes," she answers honestly, because why lie about something as blatantly clear as Sam? "You do remember what happened ten years ago, do you not?" Her tone sharpens ever so slightly, a natural defence mechanism that rears its head when she thinks about _that day_, when she thinks about how her father's last years were hell-bent on destroying every vestige of happiness she had managed to accrue.

And then the jealousy's gone from Oliver's eyes and he's dropping to one knee before her, submissive to his queen as always. Sometimes, when she's not consumed by her memories of the man who could make her feel as though she was invincible just by saying her name, she thinks how ironic it is that such a republican is in love with a queen, but that doesn't matter today (and he's slowly warming to being a consort, rather than a ruler).

"Do you really think I could forget such a day?" he asks, almost incredulous. "You might remember it for things I do not, but I still recognise the loss of a life, not to mention the end of tyranny your father left in his wake."

Amelie doesn't know how to react, and that's probably what scares her the most: a thousand years of life and she still can't deal with emotions on this scale. So she rises from where she sits and crosses the room to stare at the full moon out of her tinted window; even through the tint, it shines, just like Sam did.

On one hand, Oliver appreciates what she's going through, what she's been going through since Sam's death—he doesn't like it, but he's aware Sam will always mean more to her than he ever could—and he understands that some days have more significance to her than others. But on the other, he doesn't really appreciate the intricacy of the emotions thinking of _that day_ brings; she doesn't think of the joy that she must no longer face persecution from her father, nor about the fact that it returned her to her ruling state. No, all she can think about from that day is when Sam lay in her arms, dying, and she finally told him the only thing that he wanted to hear in this moments: that she loved—_loves_—him.

Slowly, Amelie turns back to face a man who has now risen, a man who continues to stare at her with the strange mix of emotions a comforting Oliver has—a man who, if it were not for Sam, she would have no regrets about opening up to in this new world of theirs. But there is Sam, and a small part of her will always regret not staying loyal to the memory of someone who loved her so dearly, of someone who died to save her—a death which led to her life continuing onwards.

Before she has a chance to speak, Oliver opens his mouth, sounding more like the human she knew on his deathbed he once was than the argumentative, stubborn and loyal (at least now) vampire he became. "You may not like what I am going to say, may not think that my intentions are pure—because for once, they are nought but true—but you _will_ listen, because you know I have only your best interests at heart."

"And if I do not?" she asks, her tone haughty without meaning to be; she dislikes being told what to do, even by Oliver—even by Sam—and that feeling runs through her veins despite everything.

He raises his eyebrows slightly as he takes a step forwards. "If you do not, I will leave here and never return, for there will be no place for me: I will know I mean nothing, have always meant nothing and will always," he replies, a much cooler note entering his tone. "And more than that, I will send Myrnin here to explain to you everything I would have said, and we all know how _he_ currently feels about romance."

Despite herself, Amelie feels a slight smile curving its way onto her lips at the thought of a heartbroken Myrnin attempting to give her advice on something he barely comprehends. "Very well, you may speak your mind. Just…please don't insult his memory. That's all I ask." She doesn't mean to, but she finds herself pleading by the end, the thought of Sam's sacrifice being ridiculed too much to bear. She doesn't normally get like this, and it's strange for her to see herself becoming so emotional and being unable to stop herself.

She carefully analyses his emotional response to her words, a flash of shock appearing in his eyes; evidently, he's shocked that she could think so little of him as to put down someone who means so much to her. Yet she soon pushes that to one side as she listens to the words coming out of his mouth, the words she doesn't want to hear—though they're the ones she needs to.

"I have told you this before, and I am telling you again: do not feel guilty for moving on," Oliver tells her, and immediately, she feels a retort on the edge of her lips—_you would say that, _wouldn't you_, you want me._ However she manages to resist, her eyes focused entirely in his dark, dark brown ones—the complete opposite of Sam's. That makes it easier normally, to forget him. "I do not speak for Sam, but I can speak as though I were Sam, and what I would want for you.

"I would want you to grieve for me, to regret the sacrifice I made meaning that you live life alone—I would be a liar if I said I didn't want you to hurt for me. Yet I wouldn't want that for the rest of your life; I would want you to find someone who makes you happy, maybe not in the same way, maybe not as happy as I made you, but someone who made you think that you had a chance to live life again. That man should not define you—_no_ man should define you, my dear Amelie—but that man should be something you live for. Now, I would want you to think about me sometimes, but I wouldn't want you to be consumed with the memory of me to the detriment of your life for the rest of eternity. And, honestly, Amelie, I feel that I speak for what Sam would want, also."

He takes an unnecessary breath, his eyes flickering up and down her face to assess whether or not he should run as far from her as possible due to his controversial words, but Amelie can't move. He's told her this message before, yet never as explicitly, never as though _he_ was the one who sacrificed himself for her (even though, deep down, she knows that that's not exactly the most likely thing for Oliver to do, even for her). She's never felt as convinced by his words as she does now—and, for some reason, that worries her, because what if she's losing herself, ceding herself to Oliver's control?

"Why?" she asks, her voice barely more than the slightest whisper. "Why should I believe that you really consider my happiness? Are you not trying to make me forget past love so that I love you more than ever before?"

Her words have the reaction with Oliver she sought to achieve: he turns as angry as she feels she has seen him in five years, ever since he was attacked by Shane Collins for politics Amelie cares not to remember. His anger is the thing that makes it clear that he really does value her happiness; his anger is what has her convinced before he even speaks.

Oliver strides across the room, taking no care in etiquette and politeness as he closes the gap between them, and he takes her shoulders in his hands, gripping them so that she can feel his strength. It doesn't bother her—she could break his grip and throw him out of the window in less than a second—but what interests her is the fact that she can almost see into his soul.

"I am telling you this because _I love you_," he growls, speaking right into her face. His anger only seems to escalate as he speaks, as though justifying himself is something he feels he shouldn't have to do. "I am telling you this—yet again, I might add—because your happiness is something which I hope my presence has added to. However, you continuing to pine over someone, starting to move on and then regressing right back to the belief that you're betraying him, is unhealthy. It doesn't make you happy, it doesn't make you feel as though you're making the most out of the life he granted you, and that makes you even more certain being with another is wrong. You have changed me, Amelie, as much as I hate to admit it, and sometimes I think that I have made you realise that happiness isn't something that stopped with Sam's death…and others…others I feel as though if I were not here, it wouldn't make one iota of difference to you."

Without realising she's crying, a tear slips down Amelie's cheek, falling onto Oliver's forearm—how, she doesn't understand, physics isn't what she cares about. "You misunderstand my feelings," she murmurs, any note of accusation gone from her voice. "And that is potentially for I do not understand them myself. I love Sam a great deal, but I love you now, and I would hate to lose you. Yet at times of the year like this, when I am with you, it makes me feel as though I am betraying his memory; it doesn't make sense, I'm quite well aware of that, but it doesn't make it untrue."

Slowly, Oliver releases his grip on her shoulders and takes a step back, the anger fading from his face every second, instead being replaced by some sort of pain. "I am very sorry to hear that, Amelie," he replies. "However, I am not someone who you can love one moment and not want the next; love isn't the only thing that keeps me with you, and whilst it wouldn't be easy, I _will_ leave if you cannot accept that you deserve happiness. You know that you do, and more of the time than not you take it, but you cannot relapse into these moods. It isn't healthy for anyone involved—and, this is something I am certain about, Sam wouldn't want that."

Closing her eyes, Amelie breathes, iridescent swirls of colour forming patterns behind her eyelids; they form red halos above smiling faces, they form basic towns and castles, they form…they form…

…they form Oliver.

She knows that she doesn't want to live without him, that he makes her happy—and yet she doesn't think that she can make herself stop doubting herself today. Things like that don't happen instantly, and she won't rush herself; she won't change her mind just because he threatens to leave.

"If you want, you can go, leave Morganville, be happy with another, for I am not going to change in a second," she informs him as she opens her eyes. Pausing for one moment, she sees Oliver's on the verge of speaking, and immediately she continues before he can comment. "However, if you…if you can accept that I need time—more time than I have had—I will work so that I do not feel bound by Sam's death. I will accept it as something he did for me to live and be happy, just as you say—something which I have already achieved to some extent. It will not be a quick change—you are well aware of my inability to adjust what is me—but…but I promise that I will try, and that my memories will no longer restrict."

Once again, Amelie sees a human edge resurfacing in Oliver, a human side to him that she had thought long gone when he had made an attempt on her life in the days before Morganville. It's resurfaced often in the years following Sam's death, yet only recently has it become the more prominent side of him in their intimate moments—it's a side that means she can let down her guard and return to a personality which has only reared its head a handful of times in the past thousand years—and all of them with _him_.

"And that is all I desire," he murmurs, taking a step forwards and placing his arms around her back, pulling their bodies together. "I will be here for you as a friend—and anything else—until you are ready to _truly_ be happy. As much as I hate to admit it, happiness doesn't mean that you forget him; you just live with his memory within you, content that you had the chance to know him and love him before his end."

She sighs ever so slightly into his shoulder as the tears continue to run down her face, flashes of events on this day ten years ago running through her mind, contrasting with the feelings she has today. And slowly, with an attempt to return to her normal poise, the business Amelie who doesn't allow emotions to interfere with her plans, she says, "we really must find a new word for happy. It's dreadfully common and far too human nowadays—and we have said it far too often today. I trust you will have a solution for me by tomorrow."

He laughs and she smiles, despite the tears, and Amelie knows that things will always work out for her—they always have, and they always will.

(They spend the rest of the night in the other's embrace, until he goes back to running his coffee shop and she goes back to running her people whilst accepting that she can love two people at once and still be happy.)

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